Every tiny-looking cascade had been turned into a furious torrent, whose waters came leaping and bounding down from far on high, one running into another, till the last was vastly swollen and plunged into the valley, to turn its stream into quite a large river for a few hours.
“Well?” said Dale, inquiringly, as he returned with Saxe from watching the rush of waters and the beauty of the fresh snow.
“Well, herr?” said the guide quietly.
“What do you think? Could we start back now and get to Andregg’s chalet to-night?”
“It is not impossible, herr; but the walking would be slippery and bad, every stream so swollen that they would be dangerous to wade, and the distance is so great that—”
“Well, go on. Why do you stop?”
“I had forgotten the schlucht, herr. We could not get through there. It would be terribly swollen. The water is close up to or over the path, and— No, I should not like to be answerable for your safety. No, herr, we must wait till to-morrow.”
“But we shall not have enough to eat,” said Saxe.
“Plenty, though only simple,” said Dale, smiling. “Come, Saxe, that’s not like talking like a mountaineer. To-morrow morning, then: will that do, Melchior?”
“I think so, herr. I am sure about our way to the mouth of the schlucht. Then we can see.”